


foul trouble

by roommate



Series: shadow doubles [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Body Swap, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roommate/pseuds/roommate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Yixing passed the ball to Chanyeol during the Jin Cai game, the goal was to switch possession, not bodies. (<b>Warning/s:</b> body swap, weird, underage phone sex, mutual masturbation | Written for the <a href="http://justgetlayd.livejournal.com/27959.html">second round of justgetlayd</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One of the strangest passes Yixing has ever done was a low bounce to his teammate from under the paint. They were tied with Ya Cai Primary that time, the second game in their best of four series. Twenty-four seconds left in the clock and they were in possession of the ball. Henry was at the three-point arc, ready to take the ball, but Chanyeol was much closer to him then. They had eight seconds to shoot and both players were in a good enough position to get the basket, but for some reason Yixing's body urged him to make the low pass, bounce the ball in Chanyeol's direction, hope for the best. Chanyeol flashed all ten thousand of his teeth at him and took the ball, ran behind the player defending him, then pushed himself off the ground to do a lay-up. Yixing held his breath and pressed his back against the opposing player, making sure that Chanyeol was clear from any distractions. It was the longest eight seconds of his life, and they had the longest victory celebration after that. It lasted until their third win, and then their fourth, until they eventually had the trophy in their hands, ready to be lifted in the air.

And then there's this pass – one where Yixing finds himself doing an overhead pass to Chanyeol _then_ finds himself receiving the same ball.

They're up against Shanghai Jin Cai today, and they're down to the last five minutes of the last quarter. There's a comfortable sixteen-point lead between Shanghai Primary and Jin Cai, but they can't take chances – the last time this happened, Jin Cai made one three-pointer after another and went on to clinch the win during overtime. It was Zhou Mi's last game as the captain of the basketball team, Yixing's first time playing in the starting five and for more than thirty minutes. They'd tried to fight back, they tried really hard, and Yixing could still remember the way Chanyeol bawled his eyes out because _we had it, we almost had it, we almost won!_

Yixing takes a deep breath and grips the ball in his hand tight. He's not about to let that happen again.

So he pushes himself off the floor, releases the ball from his hands as he pushes his right hand forward. The ball circles the basket, then tips off the ring. Yixing gulps hard, wills someone, _anyone_ from the team to go save the goddamned ball. Two people from Jin Cai under the basket, and then someone of the same jersey as his jumps, takes the rebound, and slams the ball into the basket.

Yixing blinks twice and holds his breath. _Shit,_ he thinks. That guy who made the dunk looks _exactly_ like him.

 

 

Shanghai Primary calls for a timeout with just two minutes left on the clock. Classic technique, Yixing thinks, so that they'll know who to target in Jin Cai. Players sometimes forget to keep track of their own statistics, much less their opponents', but that's what the coaching staff is there for. So Yixing moves closer to the center, takes a step back when he sees a familiar figure in front of him.

His body double looks up at him and whispers, "Yixing?"

Yixing looks around for a while. He catches vague player stats from the discussion but none of the other voices drown out the one that's so familiar to him. "Yeah?"

"Okay, great," says his body double. "I don't know how this happened, but you better not screw this up." A light nip of the bottom lip, then, "You and me at the three-point arc, on opposite sides. We've got to make this work."

_Chanyeol,_ his brain registers. Only Chanyeol would have the mind to focus on a basketball game despite the situation. The deep voice earlier was a giveaway, but Yixing was much too engrossed in the game to even care, to even notice that he's taken on a different voice. Jin Cai has caught up, only a three-point deficit between the teams now, and the coach has assigned both him and Chanyeol to widen the gap. Add more points to the score, wait for someone from Jin Cai to foul and give them three free baskets since they'll be stationed at the three-point arc. Yixing-who-is-actually-Chanyeol nodded. Chanyeol-who-is-actually-Yixing looked up at the real Chanyeol for a moment, then at the coach, and said, "We'll do our best."

"In and out strategy?" Yixing says now as they walk back to the court. With their roles now reversed, Chanyeol has to assume to role of the point guard, be hyperaware of everyone's movements. They've switches roles several times already, but only for practice games. Yixing is a good enough shooter, but his strength lies in setting up play, not in scoring points. So he nudges Chanyeol in his side, missing the waist and hitting Chanyeol in the arm, instead. "Hey. I said, are we doing in and out?"

"We'll wing it," Chanyeol mutters. It comes out more like a whisper in Yixing's voice.

"We can't just _wing it,_ Chanyeol. We're the playmakers here–"

"I said," Chanyeol begins, seething through gritted teeth. His voice is a few octaves higher, and even Yixing is surprised that his voice can go that high. He's never raised his voice at anyone, and if he ever reaches this pitch it's while he's composing, playing his guitar at eleven in the evening. This is frustration from not being able to express himself properly. This is a voice Yixing only hears in his head, not out here in the open. Chanyeol takes a deep breath then, and pins Yixing with his gaze. "We'll wing it, you and I. I think we both know how we move on court well enough to pull this off."

Fair enough – they _have_ played alongside each other for two years already, have fought off threats and led the team to back-to-back victories in the interschool championship. So they don't just _know_ how they move on court; they've already memorized each other's movement that Yixing can tell where Chanyeol is only by the sound of his footsteps, and Chanyeol knows where the ball is coming from just by catching the slightest image of Yixing's face from the corner of his eye.

"Eyes open," Yixing mutters, nonetheless. He gives Chanyeol a light pat on the back, more mindful of the amount of force he puts into it now, and Chanyeol laughs a little. Chanyeol gives his ass a light slap. "And I'm telling you now, we'll do in and out."

"Fine, fine, 'man with a plan'," Chanyeol replies. The corners of his mouth lift into a small, cheeky smile. It doesn't suit that face, Yixing thinks. He'll tell Chanyeol that later. "Just don't miss the three."

"I would _never._ "

"Okay, then." Chanyeol claps his hands, and the rest of the team looks at them. "Let's play ball!"

Yixing feels a familiar sizzle roll down his abdomen, his spine, set off explosions at the tips of his fingers. He looks at his hands – much bigger now – and flexes his fingers, then runs to Jin Cai's side of the court. Two more minutes and then they can figure this whole switch out. Two more minutes, Yixing thinks, and Shanghai Primary will be able to get the championship trophy for the third year in a row.

The referee blows the whistle and hands the ball to Chanyeol. He catches Chanyeol's – no, _his_ – gaze and cocks an eyebrow as if saying, _I won't let you down if you don't screw up._

Chanyeol meets him head on with an equally bright smile. Yixing never knew he had this many teeth.

Chanyeol passes him the ball, and Yixing dribbles it between his legs before turning on his heel. They run to their side of the court, poised for victory.

 

 

The most fulfilling victories aren't those won with a huge lead on the opposing team, but the ones won with just two points between the scores, and an added three after a nice basket during the last ten seconds of the game.

Chanyeol was outside the arc, then, when he made the pass – to Henry at first, then to Yuan, and eventually to Yajun. Twenty-four seconds on the shot clock and they were looking for a nice, clean way to end the game _and_ add another basket to their score. Yixing inched closer to the three-point arc at the same time that Henry moved closer to the paint. Chanyeol had two options, then – he had a guard and a forward ready to take the ball. Henry could go for an easy lay up at the risk of one of Jin Cai's players intercepting his shot, or Yixing could go for a three and potentially miss since he was at the farthest part of the arc. Yuan moved closer to the paint, now under the basket. Two of Jin Cai's players were close by and closing in on him. The other three were nowhere to be found, but he knew they were there somewhere. He heard the screech of their shoes, but no sound was as important as the steady bounce of the ball on the court.

Chanyeol locked eyes with Yixing and Yixing took the ball. He took a deep breath, jumped off the court, released the ball in one swift move and prayed to God for the shot to go in. The next thing he knew, the buzzer was sounding off and the whole team was rushing to the court. Chanyeol took him in his arms and shit, he never realized he was so small and Chanyeol was so tall until that moment.

"Still can't believe it," Chanyeol says now as he ganders at the trophy for the nth time. His now tiny fingers trace the length of the trophy. Yixing chuckles and snatches it from Chanyeol, taking advantage of his new leverage. "And, well, I can't believe this, either."

Yixing snorts. "Which is harder to digest – the fact that we won or the fact that we're–"

"Fucking?" Henry asks from a few lockers away. Chanyeol-who-is-in-Yixing's-body sticks up his middle finger at Henry. Henry gasps and presses the back of his hand to his forehead like the prospect of him passing out actually matters. It doesn't, not after this win.

Chanyeol shifts his attention back to the trophy in Yixing's arms, then fixes his gaze on Yixing. Or on himself – the furrow of his eyebrows express the same kind of confusion thrumming in Yixing's ears at the moment. "So… what do we do about this?"

Yixing shrugs. "Wanna try playing ball until one of us collapses?"

"Nah. That probably won't–" Chanyeol worries his lip for a while, like he's considering the thought, then says, "Nope, definitely not. We have an exhibition match. For scholarships, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you're right." Yixing kicks at the floor, drums his fingers on his thigh. How do people even switch bodies smack in the middle of a basketball game? It's not as if he'd actually dreamed of having legs as long as Chanyeol's, or ever thought of giving up his own body to be the kind of player that Chanyeol is. Chanyeol's easy confidence is something he's always wanted to have, sure, but to crave it this much to the point of switching bodies? Definitely not the case. "How about a body bump?"

"Or a fist bump?"

Henry raises a hand between them and suggests, "Whatever it is, it can't be anything that pizza can't solve."

Chanyeol shrugs and nods. Yixing takes a deep breath and wonders why he's in this team and how he's managed to work with the group for three years already.

"Maybe we can puke our souls out," Chanyeol says in confidence later, too many slices of pizza after, and Yixing almost flinches at the sound of his own voice. It sounds a bit different, like the way Chanyeol enunciates Chinese words and sentences rolls off his tongue differently, in a foreign manner. Because it's not proximity that's the issue – Chanyeol has pressed close to him for more times than his fingers can count and he _is_ wearing Chanyeol's skin right now. It's the fact that Chanyeol is pulling off all of Yixing's quirks with ease in front of the other members and quickly slips back into his good ol' Chanyeol self when he's with Yixing that makes him feel… weird.

"You're allergic to seafood, right?" Yixing asks, leaning closer now, and Chanyeol snorts. He elbows Yixing in the gut and mumbles and apology when he almost socks Yixing in the balls.

"I can try to be," Chanyeol whispers in response. His voice is soft and faint, like a warm cocoon enveloping Yixing after a long, well-played game. If there's ever a time Yixing found his voice soothing, this would be it. "Try me, Yixing."

 

 

The agreement is to let the thing tide over until the following day and just try to sleep as peacefully as possible. It's easy – Chanyeol has a nice, fluffy bed. His room is clean for someone who doesn't tidy up his locker often. His mother has exceptional skill in warming milk and has a calming voice that had lulled him to sleep faster than it should that night. Yixing rouses from his slumber and stretches his arms, miscalculating when he jams both fists into the headboard. He almost misses the catch when he hits the alarm clock. He frowns at his long legs and arms and big hands because no way in hell is he pulling off a five-minute shower with this much skin. He takes a gander at his new body – still new, since he's had his normal 'Yixing body' for the past fifteen years – and does a double-take as he outlines Chanyeol's calves with his gaze.

He draws his eyes up to Chanyeol's knees, thighs, Chanyeol's crotch, and swallows without meaning to. If this is the gods' way of pulling a prank on him then they sure as hell have won.

It's not a secret to anyone that he's always admired Chanyeol's skill in basketball. Chanyeol's a natural – he twists his torso without effort and his feet take him to the right place at the right time, like they've been _built_ to move on court. He has a pulse strong enough to never miss three-pointers; if he ever does, it's because he's worn out as fuck and he's been shooting one three-pointer after the other for fifteen minutes already. Chanyeol _is_ basketball, in a sense, and Yixing likes basketball. He's passionate about basketball the same way he's passionate about staying up late just to write songs that come to him at three in the morning.

There's just one thing.

"Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how screwed are you?"

Henry wiggles his eyebrows and slips in his basketball uniform, then locks his arms behind his back. They're the only ones in the locker rooms at the moment. The others always come in late, and they use this 'alone time' to warm up and get some drills done in the silence of the court. The screech of their shoes is a pain to the ears, but never as irritating as when you have five, ten, fifteen people running on court all at the same time. They use this time, too, to catch up. The transition from primary to middle school has never been easy, and their classes always put them on opposite sides of the spectrum with their conflicting schedules.

His opening statement earlier, when he showed up at the doorstep of Henry's classroom was, "Hey!" The segue, "I know this sounds weird but this is Yixing in Chanyeol's body." Henry hadn't flinched, hadn't backed up away, but he did cock an eyebrow at him and say, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Right now, though, the look of disbelief has waned. Henry's a few feet away, stretching. Yixing takes a deep breath, then, before bending to tie his shoelaces. Henry will capitalize on his untied ones if Yixing doesn't answer, so he plays it safe and mumbles, "Twenty." It's more of a confession than anything else, but it's not as if there isn't anything that Henry doesn't know. Yixing would like to think Henry is psychic but what will explain the air balls during tight passes?

"Just twenty?"

" _Fifty,_ " Yixing answers through gritted teeth. "But only because we have an exhibition match tomorrow. Or two days from now. Can't miss that. I'm gonna sock Chanyeol in the groin so hard if he screws up my play–"

Henry snorts. "You mean you're gonna kick your own balls–"

Yixing shuts his eyes tight and groans. "Fuck."

"Oh no, bro, not yet. Take it easy, man!" Henry wiggles a finger in front of him. He has that awful teasing face on. His cheeks look like they'll burst with rainbows and laughter any minute now. "Speaking of balls–"

There are a few balls nearby. The temptation to accidentally throw one in Henry's face is too strong. " _Drills,_ Lau."

"You can't talk like that to me, vice captain. What about player rights? What about freedom of speech?"

"What about me introducing this ball to your face because it's _dying to meet you?_ "

Henry gives in, cackling. The grin on his lips makes Yixing shudder. "I know. Balls just love me. They _gravitate_ to me."

A half-truth, if Yixing were to go back to the time when Chanyeol wasn't part of the team yet. Henry was born to be either a point guard or a forward, but he was a better shooter than Yixing was. All the balls that were passed to him, he was able to shoot 90% of the time. The problem with Henry was stamina, something he'd been working on since the day he got recruited. He's improved a lot, being able to last thirty minutes on the floor now. The change in playing style was what made the difference – from being an all-out attacking machine, he'd learned to add a good defense and assisting abilities to his skill set. Add Yixing's ability to keep track of everyone and adjust to people's playing styles and what have you got? Promising rookies on the floor who were given the chance to be part of the starting five as early as their third month on the team.

Chanyeol was recruited a bit later than Henry and Yixing, having just transferred from Korea to China. The coach was apprehensive that time because _what can a lanky boy do? He looks lost. We don't need lost kids on the team._ Chanyeol had tried to keep his laughter in then, but the determination to prove himself was thick in his eyes. It was in the way he kept his eyes on the ball, kept his guard up when he was in possession of it and kept track of everyone's positions. He was young and eager and he was passionate about the sport. So he teamed up with a few rookies and led their team to, well, not a victory, but not a humiliating defeat either. A five-point deficit isn't so bad when you're a team of rookies playing against the school team's starting five.

Yixing, Henry, and Chanyeol – Shanghai Primary's best rookies. The Tres Amigos, some people called them. Zhou Mi thought it would be fun to put pressure on them and called them Shanghai Primary's pillars of support.

"So," Henry begins, dribbling the ball between his legs. His footwork is impeccable. "What do you plan to do now?"

Yixing shrugs and taps the ball away just as soon as Henry takes a hold of it. "I don't know, man. How does this even happen to people?"

A loud greeting, and Yixing stops in his dribbling abruptly. Henry banks on the moment of surrender and steals the ball, then goes for an easy lay-up. "And it's a score!" Henry calls as he lands on his feet, then turns around, ball hitting the floor in a steady rhythm.

"Hey," Chanyeol calls out. He jogs to the center of the court, still in his school uniform. "Don't you usually turn up only fifteen minutes _before_ everyone else comes in? I made sure–"

Yixing scrunches his nose, then furrows his eyebrows a little at the knee-jerk reaction. "Class ended earlier than the usual."

"You're supposed to me right now. I don't go to practice early."

Yixing heaves a sigh and Henry dribbles away. "I told Henry. Figured we needed someone else on the team to know about this entire mix up just so we're covered."

"He… didn't freak out? He didn't find it weird?"

Yixing shrugs. "At first, but–" He laughs a little. "You know him, he likes weird things."

Without the steady bouncing of the ball on the court, Yixing can now hear the thumping in his chest. Louder this time, though, because Chanyeol has fallen silent and Yixing won't be able to catch the sound of Chanyeol's breathing even if he strained his hearing. He's always been a fan of silence but this one, the one that pulls them together and apart in equal parts – it leaves him clawing at air, gasping for breath. His eye twitches in response and Chanyeol scoffs. A heartbeat, and then Yixing remembers – he's seen that eye twitch before, when they lost against Jin Cai.

"That thing's involuntary, by the way," Chanyeol mumbles.

"Figured. It's not as if I–"

"I wouldn't have wanted you to tell anyone else, but eh." Chanyeol shrugs, then locks his arms behind his back. "What's done is done. And we can always threaten to kick Henry out of the team, so–"

Chanyeol does this 'Yixing thing' so well, pulls it off like he knows Yixing like the back of his hand on and off court. It's flattering, to say the least – he knows the way Chanyeol's limbs move to the music Yixing sets when they play ball, yes, but for Chanyeol to know how to react to things Yixing is normally faced with, to know when to chuckle and laugh and _be Yixing…_ It's something else. It's like Chanyeol has kept an eye on him all these years and anticipated this to happen. Waited and willed for it to happen, even.

Chanyeol giggles, but it's not his usual giggle – it's lighter, more rhythmic than just bouts of laughter. It doesn't sound like Chanyeol but then it shouldn't; they're not yet in their original bodies, after all. Yixing lets the downward tug pull the corners of his mouth further down. This is his best impression of Chanyeol's look of discomfort. "He said he'll invoke player rights."

Chanyeol pauses in his laughter, then, "Player rights– What?" He makes his voice louder, cranes his neck and grins at Henry. "We have those?"

"I'm quitting the team!" Henry yells. "Then you can kiss the championship goodbye!"

An empty threat, Yixing wants to say, but his mind is too busy processing Chanyeol's soft laughter that comes out in his voice, the way Chanyeol makes his eyes turn into slits as he laughs his ass off. The way Chanyeol slaps him repeatedly on the arm, yelling back at Henry, "We already got the championship, stupid!"

Yixing looks at Chanyeol's tiny hand on his arm and the soft blotches of pink on his skin. He hasn't seen these in a while, not since he took an injury to the back and scarred his basketball career and friendship with Chanyeol altogether. He hasn't seen it since he started to pick up a racket and drop a ball.

 

 

Yixing balancing tennis and basketball was never the issue. It was the fact that Yixing considered picking up another sport and might have left the team if he wanted to that bothered Chanyeol more than anything else.

Yixing still remembers what happened two years back, when he took an injury to his back that pulled him off court smack in the middle of the game and onto a stretcher. It wasn't anything serious, but it wasn't a mild enough case of a pulled muscle to just be brushed off. He was having difficulty twisting his torso, making overhead passes because of the stretch when he had to lift his arms. Shanghai Primary was eight good points ahead of Jin Cai then. Yixing got ahead of himself and wanted to play hero, so he stretched this and that, exerted his body beyond its elastic limit.

Henry made sure to keep him off court for a few good weeks, until he recovered from the injury. Chanyeol dropped by his place from time to time, checked on him often. His questions of _how are you? When are you coming back?_ were always met with, "I don't know. I'll… I'll try to come back soon?"

See, the thing about sports injuries is that the real pain isn't in the injury itself – it's in the mind game the experience plays with you, the way the shock of the incident toys with your mind that hurts the most. Knowing that he might have been a reason behind the loss was more painful than taking an injury to the back. Knowing that he might not be able to play ball the same way again left him with a dull ache in his chest, sore limbs, a pounding headache. It was like that nagging pain in your chest that wouldn't fade even too many bottles of beer after. Yixing had yet to try drinking his sorrows away, but he won't come within a one-foot radius of alcohol. He was a basketball player. He carried the name of the school. It wasn't in the school's equity to have underage players drink, so he wasn't going to do it. He never would.

So the extra two weeks Yixing took off from basketball weren't for his physical recovery; those were for his sanity, and to ease him back into the concept of playing ball again.

Then he met tennis – more like reunited with it, after not picking up a racket for more than five years. Muscle memory hadn't failed him – he still knew how to hit shots, how to execute a drive, how to do an overhead serve and a forehand one – and within three days he found the soft bounce of the tennis ball on the court a comforting sound. Out here, on court, alone with only the big wall to witness him play, he felt safer. There was no one to depend on him, no one to expect anything from him. If there was anyone he'd let down, it was himself. He'd gotten accustomed to that already; turning older every year just adds more insecurities to your list of 'things to feel bad about.'

At the very top of Yixing's list was 'letting the team down, letting people down'.

Chanyeol didn't get the concept of an injury scaring people away, though, didn't understand the concept of fear until Yixing started to give equal amounts of time to both tennis and basketball. "That's it? You're gonna leave just like that?" Chanyeol had said. His eyes we were open and his eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like one of those elves in Snow White, except this wasn't a fairytale. Yixing certainly wasn't Snow White. "Just because you found yourself in tennis, you'll drop the team?"

"Can't I love both tennis and basketball equally?" Yixing had replied.

Chanyeol had grumbled, frowned. It wasn't a look on Chanyeol Yixing wanted to see again. "That's not how it works."

So Yixing dropped the sport that didn't dictate his future and his life. It was basketball that his secondary education was dependent on, after all. He dropped the racket and picked up the ball again. Loyalty makes you do that, drop something you've come to be passionate about because: one, you want to save face, and two, because _he_ wants you in the team, because the team won't function as well without you. Because Yixing has, in some way, become a vital part of that whole that Chanyeol, for all of his skill in basketball, cannot function as well without Yixing playing point guard. That's what teamwork is about – giving things up for the sake of the group, giving up your favorite toy because it won't fit in the shuttle taking the team to the location for the interhigh games. Yixing giving Chanyeol a portion of his heart, the part that had been allotted solely to tennis, without asking for anything in return. He hadn't even labeled it 'fragile; don't even thinking of breaking even if you're in danger'.

"Focus," Chanyeol reminds him now, reaches up to, perhaps, ruffle his hair. The height difference makes him miss and pinch Yixing's nose, instead. "Exhibition game's just around the corner. Same school, remember?"

Same sport, same school, same life. Chanyeol has already built a future in Yixing's property and didn't even ask for permission. That asshole.

"Don't slack off just because you have me on the team," Yixing says, instead. He swallows a huge lump in his throat. Chanyeol's shit-eating grin makes the simple action more of a chore.

" _You_ don't slack off," Chanyeol replies. Chanyeol passes him a ball and he catches it on reflex. "You need to get a three in eight seconds, quick!"

Yixing dribbles the ball twice before jumping off the floor and releasing the ball from his hands. He follows Chanyeol's order not because he can't say no, but because there's a ball in his possession. There's a three-second rule, and he only has eight seconds on the clock to make the shot. The ball passes the ring in a clean three-point shot. Chanyeol pulls him close for a bone-crushing hug, still sweat-stained and smelly from practice. It's a nice kind of scent, like victory and laughter and accomplishment.

Chanyeol pinches him in his sides. Yixing thinks, _that's not gonna get you anywhere. We won't be switching back anytime soon._

Yixing looks down, meets Chanyeol in the eye and sees himself them. He thinks, _shit, I don't really want to._

"Play!" he says, then, and catches the ball Henry passes him. Chanyeol goes for the steal, adapting to his new role as a point guard, and speeds past Yixing. He runs in an effort to get the ball back and to rack up points for his record. He runs to catch up to Chanyeol and to stand on the same ground as Chanyeol is, once and for all.

 

 

The exhibition match gets rescheduled to next week. Chanyeol doesn't make a big fuss out of it, but that might be because he's wearing a different skin. Reckless and ruthless as he may be when he plays, he's careful with his words. That's what makes Chanyeol a good captain – he knows when to challenge players and when to motivate them, when to move them. He knows how to talk down on someone but lift him up soon after. It's an inherent skill, Yixing thinks. Chanyeol has had it even before he became captain. He's had it even before Yixing realized that Chanyeol's words, no matter how sharp or soft, were only words. Nothing more.

"Coach is heaven-sent," Chanyeol says now, throwing his head back against the wall. Henry throws a hand towel in his direction and he makes this kissy face that looks more like he's struggling to breathe than anything else. Yixing nudges him in his side. "I think I'm in love."

Henry only snorts in response before sitting beside them, knees drawn close to his chest. The coach had sent the other players home earlier and they'd begged to stay a bit later, longer. Yixing didn't miss a beat, then, coming forward to say, "Come on, coach. We can't screw this up." The extra drawl at the end of the sentence was for more 'Chanyeol authenticity'; the lilt in his voice was to convince himself that he wanted it, too, the longer practice hours, the extra session. The coach didn't say anything else, left the gym ten minutes after. Now, after thirty more minutes of running around just shooting hoops, feeling for their pulse before releasing the ball, Yixing can't say he doesn't feel more prepared for the game next week.

"A few more days between today and that game, though," Henry whispers. He throws his head back, too, and groans when he hits the wall too hard. "Ow."

"Careful, man. You can't lose your tennis sense until we get the scholarship."

Chanyeol parts his lips to speak, then presses them together. He leans back against the wall, eyes still fixed on Yixing like he's testing him. Waiting for that one thing that will make him sound more like a convincing Chanyeol.

"Don't screw up our game or we'll screw up yours," Yixing tries. Chanyeol nods, faces front again. The grin on his lips is blinding.

It's been half a week since they've switched bodies. Nothing feels terribly out of order – they move around in the same community, after all, have similar interests and the same group of friends. The only difference, and a stark difference at that, is the inches between them, the height difference that makes Yixing, in his normal body, a better point guard than a forward, and gives Chanyeol, in his normal body as well, leverage when attempting to score three-point baskets. That, and Chanyeol's inability to keep track of every single person on the floor.

Once, Chanyeol almost bumped into Yixing on court. Yixing went for the save and made it look like a seamless pass. _We're a team,_ Yixing had mouthed then, like Chanyeol needed to be reminded of the reason Yixing returned to basketball. _You don't have to do everything alone. You're not alone so deal with it._

Yixing likes 'alone', though, even if Chanyeol's body reacts against it. He feels it in the involuntary eye twitch when silence fills the locker rooms for close to a minute, or in the tiny jerk of his body when he doesn't call out Yuan on his bad footwork or Yajun on his loose ball handling. It's in the way Chanyeol looks at him even if he's in a different body, eyes saying, _give me the ball. I'll take the pass. I'll do the basket. Give the goddamned ball to me._

"Only two spots for the scholarship, though," Henry whispers, breaking the monotone of Chanyeol's low humming. Yixing's eyebrows twitch – he wonders what Chanyeol's throat would look like after all the talking, the yelling, the screaming. He wonders if it would look exactly like his after talking too much. "So which of you two losers will get the other?"

Yixing cocks an eyebrow, a knee-jerk reaction. Chanyeol's lips fall open in a small 'o'. "You're not getting it," Yixing says. "We are."

Chanyeol does that thing again, where he hovers and then leans back but his eyes are saying something else. Even in someone else's body, Yixing can still see what makes Chanyeol _completely Chanyeol_ – the quick reactions, spontaneous and unrehearsed. The exaggerated way he widens his eyes like he really, really can't believe something. The way he lets a grin surface on his lips all too easily and pull up the corners of his mouth. Yixing wants to say, _hey, take it easy. That's my body you're using, not yours._

Instead, he meets Chanyeol's gaze head on and asks, "Same schools, remember?"

The tension in Chanyeol's eyebrows eases, makes him slip back into a normal 'Yixing face' void of surprise or confusion. This is wonder, Yixing tells himself. He knows himself well enough to pinpoint this emotion and read it, cross-reference it with Chanyeol's catalogue of expressions and arrive at the conclusion that yes, this _is_ wonder. The sudden quirk of the lip is amusement; the clench of the fists, a hint of hesitation.

"You made a promise, Chan–" Yixing worries his bottom lip. "You made a promise."

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. "It's not as if Henry doesn't know."

"I forget easily," Henry says. A split-second, then, "Who are you? Why am I here? Was I abducted by aliens? _Are we in Space Jam?_ "

Chanyeol's eyes widen and then he cracks, nose twitching. This isn't 'just Chanyeol' in Yixing's body now – it's a bit of both of them, like Chanyeol had forgotten, for a split-second, who he's supposed to be. Park Chanyeol, the Shanghai Primary's ace basketball player in Zhang Yixing's body, not Chanyeol and Yixing, the inseparable duo, the best point and shooting guard combination Shanghai has ever seen. So Yixing reminds him, slaps him on the arm until Chanyeol's doubling over, face pressed to the cool floor of the court.

"I'm glad we never have to play with each other again!" Henry yells, like he's surrendering and declaring that there's no way for Chanyeol and Yixing to ever be separated. Yixing only scoffs, snorts, erupts into a peal of laughter when Chanyeol's laughter reaches him, when Chanyeol grips him by the wrist and he feels Chanyeol's pulse on his skin. Five steady beats – _you're fucking stuck with me._

 

The seventh day, Yixing finds himself staring at Chanyeol's boner through the mirror and telling Chanyeol over the phone, "Give me my body back. I can't deal with this."

A lie, a voice in Yixing's mind says – it's not as if he hasn't had experience dealing with a boner. Once, after practice, he caught Chanyeol toweling himself down after a shower. The towel wrapped around his waist was a poor excuse for decent clothing, and covered barely a foot of his legs. Chanyeol's body wasn't perfect, but he was toned in the right places. Yixing could make out the cuts on his abdomen from a few feet away. His calves were nice, sculpted, and for a moment Yixing found himself wondering how it would feel to trace the length of Chanyeol's legs with his hands, how it would feel to dip his hand between Chanyeol's thighs and give Chanyeol's dick a lazy tug 'for good luck.'

"Jerk me off!" Chanyeol says on the other end of the line like it's the most normal thing in the world. "I'm sorry, okay, I should've warned you–"

"That your boner for Huilang lasted until the next century," Yixing finishes. He can feel his dick – Chanyeol's or whoever's now, really – getting heavy between his legs. The strain in his boxers is becoming more unbearable by the minute. "Seriously, though, the mere sound of her voice?"

Chanyeol makes a gurgling sound on the other end of the line. He can hear his mother in the background, then Chanyeol saying that he's 'helping Chanyeol with homework'. "Just imagine her whimpering while you fuck her–"

"No." Yixing shakes his head as if it will make a difference. He climbs onto Chanyeol's bed, nonetheless, taking in the scent of the fresh sheets. Chanyeol's mother had just changed them this morning. If there's anything he feels bad about, it's the prospect of sullying the sheets. "No, no, _no,_ I am not jerking you off."

"Please?" Chanyeol says, voice softer this time. That sends a sizzling heat down his abdomen, too, right to his dick. This isn't Chanyeol anymore – this is Yixing taking control over Chanyeol's body. "Hey, c'mon, help a friend out."

Yixing takes a deep breath. Chanyeol's soft humming isn't supposed to make his dick throb, but then this isn't the first time he's imagined Chanyeol whispering in his ear, asking Yixing to get him off. He closes his eyes, then, clenches and unclenches his fists before saying, "Fine. Make it quick."

"Thanks!" Chanyeol replies. Yixing hears the sound of something creaking on the other end of the line, then a soft thud. Chanyeol must have gotten on the bed, too. If Chanyeol is going to give him instructions on how to get him off then they better do it right.

"Okay, so–" Chanyeol's voice drops to a whisper, suddenly too aware of the situation. Yixing feels his dick twitch. "I usually… tease myself in my underwear first while thinking of Huilang. A few minutes, give or take. I like getting myself really hard before actually, y'know, pulling out the bazooka."

The euphemism is bad, almost a boner killer, but Yixing stays hard anyway. He chuckles but nods, then leans back into the pillows, shifting in his position before running his thumb down his length. His breath hitches, and Chanyeol takes this as a sign to go on. "Just keep doing that," Chanyeol whispers, voice steady despite the lower volume. There's a bit of a quiver somewhere there, in his breathing, but Chanyeol recovers at once. He probably isn't used to keeping his voice down even if he's jerking himself off, hand in his pants. "Rub the tip through your clothes. Just light strokes. Teasing is key."

"Fuck you," Yixing says with a laugh. Chanyeol chuckles, too, but doesn't say anything, like he's listening for any sign of arousal. Chanyeol's breathing hitches a little. "And then?"

"You still have her voice memorized? The way she laughs?"

"Yeah," Yixing replies. He's lying, but Chanyeol doesn't know that. He plays Chanyeol's voice in his head, instead, the low whispers when they're alone in the gym, talking about a future as basketball starts, Shanghai's dynamic duo on court. He plays it again and again until he feels a shiver crawl up his spine. "Loud and clear."

"Okay, good." Rustling of the sheets, and then, "Get rid of your underwear. Fondle with your balls for a while then start pumping yourself. Just–" Chanyeol clears his throat before swallowing. "A loose fist. Don't jerk yourself off too hard."

Yixing cranes his neck, checks if the door is locked. He strains his hearing just to make sure no one's coming up, then does exactly as he is told.

He'd always imagined Chanyeol to be hung, but never in his life did he imagine Chanyeol to be this huge. He'd probably have a hard time swallowing around Chanyeol's dick if he ever had a chance; his gag reflex has never been the best, after all. Shunning these thoughts away when Chanyeol whispers his name, he starts touching himself. He gently wraps his fingers around his balls before giving them a light squeeze. He does it one more time, then another, and ends with a light brush of his thumb against the sensitive skin. Chanyeol makes a sound of approval, a low hum that sends a thrum of arousal to the pit of Yixing's stomach, and Yixing feels his thighs shake. A groan escapes his lips and shit – if this is how Chanyeol sounds when he's getting himself off then Yixing is screwed.

"You like how that feels?" Chanyeol says now. It sounds like a line from one of those awful pornos Yixing has watched with Henry. This is _nothing_ like any of those, though.

"Yeah. Good," Yixing manages to reply. He moves onto wrapping his fingers around his dick and gives himself a few quick jerks, then starts building a steady rhythm. "You're pretty–ah–"

"Meticulous?" Chanyeol offers. He chuckles, laughter light, almost like a whisper. His voice has taken a low tone, though, one Yixing has heard himself use before, but logic eludes him now like he's dodging a bullet. His mind is stuck somewhere between the phone lines and his dick and it feels fucking good. "I like being thorough."

Yixing scoffs. "You like being in control."

"Yeah," Chanyeol groans. He hums again, a drawn out moan this time and _shit–_ Yixing thinks. Chanyeol's getting himself off of this, as well. A traitorous feeling crawls up his chest, pounds on his lungs and sends a prickling sensation to the tip of his dick. "Now pump harder. Tighten your grip."

Yixing swallows hard before pulling away all the way, then replaces the hand on his dick with a tighter fist. He develops a better rhythm after a while, faster, and his other hand, the one holding his phone and keeping Chanyeol on the line, begins to shake. He can feel himself getting closer, breathing in tandem with Chanyeol's whispered, "Yes, that's right, just– Keeping doing that– Yixing–" The last part catches on his lips and makes his toes curl, makes his knees go weak and his entire face burn. He tucks his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, then, reaching south with his once-free hand and cupping his balls. Chanyeol isn't giving instructions anymore, just breathing into the receiver, heavy and uneven.

So it's just natural for Yixing to return the favor, make the whole arrangement easier. Teamwork, he reminds himself; a voice in his mind chants, _bullshit._ "Give your dick a squeeze and then let your nails graze the underside."

Chanyeol coughs a little. He can hear the rustle of the sheets on the other end of the line. "What?"

"I said–" Yixing releases his balls from his grasp and palms the tip of his dick, instead. His breath hitches but he tries to keep it together because he's a nice guy and he knows how to give back to people who are just as nice. To the one who's just gotten him off. "Grip your dick tight, squeeze it, then let your nails graze the underside as you jerk off."

There's light laughter on the other end of the line. It mixes well with Chanyeol's choked gasps. Yixing replays it in his mind, again and again, and feels his dick throb in his hand. "Now who's the one who's thorough?"

"We both are," Yixing admits. He shuts his eyes tight, feeling his abdomen coil even more. Chanyeol keeps humming and letting loose light chuckles like he's being tickled while getting himself off. That shouldn't make Yixing's chest constrict.

But it does, and it makes his balls feel heavy between his legs and makes his throat tighten. "You can come if you want to," Chanyeol whispers, then, and Yixing grunts, then lets out a soft moan like that's what does it for him – Chanyeol giving him permission to get wrecked, to slack off. Chanyeol letting him in his life without any restrictions, without testing him first. Like there's nothing sweeter than the sound of Chanyeol coming when Yixing whispers right back, "Anytime now." His vision whites out for a moment as Chanyeol makes this high, keening noise, then groans before quieting down completely. Yixing stays still for a few seconds, eyes shut and hand still moving up and down in easy jerks, thighs trembling and his entire body jerking from the heightened sensation.

"This is crazy," Chanyeol says into the receiver. He's laughing. It's a nice kind of laugh, the type that feels like being enveloped in a quilt. Yixing doesn't shy away from it, but he does loosen his fist.

"Yeah," is the only thing he says. He wipes off his cum on the back of the waistband of Chanyeol's boxers and thinks, _shit, I hope mama doesn't notice._

There's a thick silence keeping them both on the line. Yixing knows his body too well – he knows that he'll pass out in a few minutes if he doesn't get up and get a shower. He knows he can coax himself into hardness again if he thinks about Chanyeol getting him off, if he tries hard enough. He knows this is enough, too, so he says, "Wash yourself," in an effort to break the silence. Chanyeol chuckles, then, a more familiar sound this time, and Yixing feels his limbs again, a surge of warmth creeping to the tips of his fingers.

"Thanks," Chanyeol mumbles. A heartbeat, then, "I, uh, we're cool, right?"

Yixing contemplates covering the receiver with his other hand, but he's dirty and he still feels sore all over. So instead, he presses his lips together before replying, "We're cool," doesn't say, _we could be more._

He waits for the soft click on the other end of the line before dropping his phone to the bed. He looks at the display, hoping for another call. It doesn't come.

 

 

The morning after isn't awkward at all. Chanyeol greets him with a high five with the same hand that Yixing usually jerks himself off with. Yixing returns the favor, then, slaps Chanyeol's ass with his right hand and laughs on cue, just when Chanyeol begins to yelp. The trick in salvaging a friendship post hand job exchange is in not groping the other's ass, so Yixing doesn't. He lets his hand fall to his side and doesn't repeat the action until they execute a great play, with Chanyeol, in Yixing's body, setting up a great pass and then an assist before Yixing, in Chanyeol's body, ends the point with an easy lay-up.

"You feel better now?" Chanyeol asks at half-time. He's in a good mood but, then again, who isn't after a good jerking off session? Chanyeol came with a shrill sound last night that he probably couldn't excuse as cats mewling. Cats sounded nothing like Chanyeol. And Yixing sounded nothing like that even at the peak of his arousal.

Yixing looks at Chanyeol, looks at his crotch, then back to Chanyeol's face. Chanyeol squints at him. "Yeah, pretty much."

Chanyeol gives him a long look before turning on his heel, but he looks over his shoulder before walking away.

The plan is to go out for _cong you bing_ as a team, but Henry ended up caving and succumbing to Yajun and Yuan's pleas of checking out the new ice cream shop nearby. "We rarely get new shops here, after all," Henry even reasoned out, already halfway out the door, and Yixing only waved him off on Chanyeol's behalf. Chanyeol had just stared at the three, then, hands on his waist, lips quirked up in a peculiar smile. Like he was watching three of his kids grow up and head to college, like he was leaving them to their own devices for the very first time.

"They're coming back tomorrow for practice, you know," Yixing says now, slipping out of the showers and toweling his hair dry. Today's practice session was light, almost like that of a warm-up, but he still hates the post-practice stink more than anything else. Taking a shower is more of a necessity than a leisure. "Unless you tell them not to."

Chanyeol lets out a loud exhale and rolls his eyes. He pulls his shirt over his head, then, and Yixing finds himself outlining the stretch of his torso. _Whoa,_ he tells himself. It's not normal to check oneself out, is it? It isn't so bad, either. "It's almost the end of the school year. We're graduating soon. We're leaving the school behind."

"And they're just going out for ice cream," Yixing assures. He clasps a hand on Chanyeol's bare shoulder, winces when cold skin meets Chanyeol warm, sticky own. Chanyeol cackles. "You're gross."

"Is that an attack on my being sappy or my body?"

" _My_ body, you mean," Yixing reminds him. He drops his hand to his side, but makes no move to wipe the sweat off. "Freshen up. _Cong you bing's_ waiting!"

Chanyeol chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, I'll scrub myself until I'm squeaky clean." What he means to say is, _I'll scrub myself until we swap back. Or maybe until I forget what happened last night._

Yixing feels it now, the hesitation in Chanyeol's actions, notices the way Chanyeol looks up at Yixing before slipping off his basketball shorts and wrapping a towel around his waist. Chanyeol used to not have qualms getting naked in front of him and really, now, shouldn't he not have an issue getting naked in front of his own self? It's like watching yourself strip in front of the mirror, except only your reflection's getting naked. It's not supposed to be weird. They're not awkward.

Chanyeol stops just before he disappears into the showers completely. He turns around, then asks, "No Huilang problems today?"

Yixing takes a deep breath, makes sure to not let the sharp rise of his shoulders show. Too late, though – he's shirtless and the lighting here in the locker rooms makes every muscle movement dramatic, accentuates the tiny jerk of Chanyeol's body when Yixing gives him a once over.

He looks away even before his gaze can travel further south, past Chanyeol's torso and down to Chanyeol's crotch. "Nope. No Huilang problems today."

"Are you sure? Like–" Chanyeol scratches his nape, the slope of his neck. "Nothing at all? Not a hint of a boner or–"

There's a message here, scrawled on Chanyeol's skin, in the way Chanyeol tilts his head back and doesn't flinch when Yixing lets his eyes betray him, gaze tracing the column of Chanyeol's throat. Yixing isn't sure if he's reading things right, but then Chanyeol's eyesight has never been shit. He gives Chanyeol enough time to crack a joke, burst into laughter and say, "Hah! Gotcha!" But Chanyeol doesn't. Instead, Chanyeol plays with the towel wrapped around his waist.

Yixing worries his bottom lip. "You? Any... problem that I can help with?"

Chanyeol cackles, then, and tugs at Yixing's wrist. "I didn't know you had a thing for Feifei," he mumbles, faint enough to be a whisper, but Yixing catches it just before the sound gets muffled by the water rushing to the floor. A gentle tug on the towel around his waist and it comes off, gets tossed to the floor where it's dry. Yixing reaches for Chanyeol's towel, then, like this is a contest, a test to see who can undress each other quicker. "You could've told me, you know, although I always knew–"

Yixing laughs a little, but the sound gets choked when Chanyeol pulls him closer. They're directly under the shower head now and the pressure tickles Yixing's skin. "Not as great as your boner for Huilang, though," he teases. "Won't ever be able to compare."

He waits for the punch line, but instead he gets Chanyeol's lips pressed on his as a response. The fit is... weird. He feels the strain on Chanyeol's muscles when Chanyeol tiptoes, cranes his neck. He feels a dull ache in his body when he bends his knees just a little to accommodate and meet Chanyeol halfway. "Fuck, this is hard," Chanyeol mumbles, then, and wraps his arms around Yixing's waist. Their dicks slide against each other and Yixing bites a bit too hard on Chanyeol's bottom lip. Chanyeol laughs and Yixing decides, here's the fucking payback, so he sucks Chanyeol's bottom lip between his own, sucks on Chanyeol's tongue, licks the cavern of Chanyeol's mouth when Chanyeol grinds against him.

Chanyeol pulls away but has some trouble committing to it, leans in to plant soft kisses on the underside of Yixing's jaw. It's the closest he can get to Yixing's lips without tiptoeing.

"This is so weird," Chanyeol says, still laughing. Yixing isn't sure if he's talking about the kiss or making out with each other in bodies they don't own. Either way, Chanyeol's body believes otherwise, bucks into the slide of Yixing's dick against his own. The soft groan that escapes Chanyeol's lips is another proof; the way he snakes his hands to grab a handful of Chanyeol's ass a fucking testament to how something weird can actually feel right.

"Yeah," Yixing echoes after a while, finding his voice again. He licks the shell of Chanyeol's ear and Chanyeol giggles. His dick's knee-jerk response is to twitch. "Very weird."

If Chanyeol is methodical in the way he jerks himself off, the way he rubs up against Yixing it's different. There's no control here save for when he bites his own lip when Yixing begins to fondle his balls, no control in the way he lets out a string of curses – _shit, fuck, Yixing, that feels good– oh fuck–_ He takes Chanyeol's dick in his hand, wraps his fingers tight and gives it a slick twist before giving it a few easy jerks. "Did you do this when you– when you called?"

"Followed everything to a fucking T," Chanyeol answers, breathless. His lips are wet and warm on Yixing's chest. He takes a nipple between his lips like he's exacting revenge, then looks up at Yixing. "This turns me on, too."

Yixing tries to laugh, but instead what comes out is a moan. Chanyeol grins at him like an excited teenager. He probably is. "Which? Playing with your nipples or being controlled?"

Chanyeol pauses, catches the nipple between his teeth and gives it a light tug. Yixing seethes and throws his head back. A familiar sizzle rolls down his abdomen. "This and that. And that one just now, too."

Chanyeol's looking up at him with a soft gaze, a soft smile, no hint of the snark that he usually wears when he's Park Chanyeol, basketball superstar, and not 'just Chanyeol', that kid who grew up in Korea but had to transfer to Shanghai because of his father's job. Chanyeol's looking up at Yixing with _Yixing's face_ and this looks weird, _feels weird,_ and Yixing knows that it's not normal to to feel your heart race when you look at yourself in the eye, but Yixing looks past that, looks straight at the person inside and focuses on that tiny vessel of being. He keeps his eyes on _Chanyeol_ , attunes his senses to every movement of Chanyeol's muscles, the way Chanyeol bucks his hips and sucks and bites on his shoulder. And he commits that to memory, like at any moment they'll swap back and Chanyeol will realize that it was only Yixing's subconscious controlling him, telling him to give up and give in. Like this is all Yixing's doing and that Chanyeol doesn't want it as much as he does.

"Hey," comes Chanyeol's voice, laugher bubbling on his lips. Chanyeol's palm is warm on his ass cheek. Chanyeol gives it a light squeeze. "Eyes on me. Focus."

Yixing chuckles and hovers. "Yes, captain," he whispers before reclaiming Chanyeol's lips.

Later, they scrub each other's backs without Chanyeol sneaking a hand to Yixing's ass for a light grope. Yixing digs his nails into Chanyeol's scalp in revenge, but it does nothing to tame Chanyeol. Chanyeol erupts into a peal of laughter, loud and bright, like the smile on his lips isn't enough to blind everyone within a five-foot radius.

Yixing keeps his eyes open, though, to remind himself that this is real. He blinks a few times and they're still here, two people who have switched bodies. Yixing and Chanyeol, partners on court and in crime. Chanyeol with his lips on Yixing's again like breathing is an invitation for a kiss. Yixing with his fingers tangled in Chanyeol's hair, eyes gently being pricked by soap suds. There's a dull ache in his jaw from Chanyeol's lack on control, but he can't say he minds. So he kisses Chanyeol until the suds slide between the thin distance between their faces, until gasps dissolve into laughter and misbehaving hands dissipate into shy touches.

"Bubbles," Yixing says as a safe word. Chanyeol cackles and Yixing thinks, he's never safe. Nothing is ever safe with Chanyeol.


	2. Chapter 2

The sick part of comfort is that it's addicting. Yixing drinks it up like water, or morning coffee, breathes it in like air. Chanyeol slides up next to him like a habit and they play alongside each other on court like they're born to be partners in crime. He looks around and spots Chanyeol from the corner of his eye and he does his best to make the pass even if Henry's available and Yuan is on the paint, ready to shoot. Chanyeol sets up the play for him for an easy basket and really, it's a win-win situation. If the scouts suddenly walked into the gym to observe, they'd be ready. If they decided to pick people from the team right then and there then they – Yixing and Chanyeol – would be raring to give it their best and secure those two spots.

Yixing looks at his hands, still big and unlike their normal size if he was in his real body, and wonders how long this will last. This can't be their happy ending yet. There has to be a sick plot twist somewhere, the part where the world slows down and someone jumps in front of Yixing, making him miss the three.

Chanyeol pulls him out of his reverie with a light nudge in his side. Almost two weeks into the switch and Chanyeol has already gotten all of Yixing's actions nailed. He could pass off as Yixing's twin now, except Chanyeol's much taller in reality. Maybe Chanyeol got the recessive genes and grew limbs twice the size as that of Yixing's. He's definitely the more gifted one, between the two of them. Yixing isn't sure how he feels about incest just yet, but Chanyeol sort of makes it feel _alright._

"Lost you again," Chanyeol mumbles. He waves over his shoulder – at the coach, Yuan and Yajun, Henry who's shooting them an inquisitive look – then nudges Yixing in his side. They're supposed to be going for _cong you bing,_ not lingering in the locker rooms longer than they should. "Hey, hey, _hey–_ "

"I'm here," Yixing replies. He locks his arms behind his back and reaches over. The stretch doesn't put strain on his arm, but it does make the tips of his fingers tingle. He gives Chanyeol's cheek a light pinch, then says, "Last one out of the gym pays!"

Chanyeol groans, but he doesn't frown. It's a fake groan, the one Chanyeol uses when he wants to _get something._ "Fuck."

In the end, they all pay for their own orders, but Yixing and Chanyeol split a second order between themselves. "Part of chemistry-building," Chanyeol reasons with him, but Yixing only brushes it off, stuffs a small piece of _cong you bing_ in Chanyeol's mouth. He resorts to actions when words elude him and Chanyeol seems to get it, the logic behind this, like he understands Yixing more than he should and knows how his mind works beyond the mechanics of team play. So Yixing keeps chewing even with Chanyeol snaking a hand up his thigh, even with Chanyeol tucking his chin on Yixing's shoulder. He lets out an exhale loud enough for Chanyeol to hear. Yixing lives off of that knowledge, latches onto it like a lifeline.

 

 

Huilang and Feifei become less of a cover up for messy make out sessions in the showers and more of a talk off point. Chanyeol always begins with, "So I have a problem..." and only half the time does he really mean to sort his shit out. The other half, he spends wrapping his arms around Yixing's waist and backing him up against the cold tiles of the shower room. The first few times, Yixing couldn't keep the surprise in and almost jumped. After the third time, he got the rhythm and timing down, slid one leg between Chanyeol's own and rubbed his knee against Chanyeol's cock.

"You could always–" Chanyeol's breath hitches, stifling into a moan as he crushes his lips on Yixing's shoulders. Yixing replaces his knee with his hand, a loose fist that he guides to the base of Chanyeol's cock. Chanyeol ruts into his hand like they're running out of time for this, to figure things out, and Yixing only responds with an ounce of self-control. At best, he just means to make this a more pleasurable experience for Chanyeol; at worst, he's a tease.

"We should develop a rule," Chanyeol whispers at the back of Yixing's ear. Yixing shivers, trembles all over. He has goosebumps from where Chanyeol had run hot breath over his skin and his abdomen coils. "To never make out before games."

Yixing hums and grins. He guides his cock closer, until they're rubbing against each other. His teeth chatter at the push and pull of hot and cold on his skin. "Right before a game or the day before?"

"Don't be silly," Chanyeol replies. "Right before it. Sex for good luck is part of the tradition."

"Nah, you're just a horny bastard." Yixing groans when Chanyeol snakes a hand to his ass, thumb circling the rim. "A really, _really_ horny bastard."

And this becomes a routine – play hard and play well during practice, then make out in the showers once the gym clears and steam rises in the locker room. Under the thin veil in the showers, they're fearless. Take that away and Chanyeol's reduced to an eight-year-old still looking for his place in the world, that one thing he can be good at, a talent he can own. Add another layer of protection through the phone lines and Chanyeol feels like a fucking superstar, a player on a national level. The type of face that you see in basketball playing cards or action figures. A face that shines even brighter under spotlights, if that's even possible.

With or without the thin layer of who they can be, Yixing feels the same – ambitious enough to hope for a future on the court, playing alongside Chanyeol, but humble enough to know that he has to do something to make things a reality. So he tries his best, tries his hardest. He sweeps people off their feet and goes for a nice, clean sweep whenever he plays ball. He makes sure Chanyeol's reduced to a whimpering mess as he moves two fingers inside Chanyeol's ass and jerks him off at the same time. He makes sure that they look shiny and brand new before they leave to rejoin the rest of the group. They clean up their mess in the showers and even put the shampoo and soap where they should be like the good kids that they are.

"You washed your hands twice, right?" Yixing asks when they're at the Park household, drinking warm milk while working on their homework. Chanyeol fell asleep halfway through solving math problems earlier, but managed to catch up in five minutes.

" _Thrice,_ " Chanyeol mumbles. He rubs his eyes and furrows his eyebrows at his homework. He taps the last problem before picking up his pen again. "Okay, last stretch!"

Day fourteen of being in each other's bodies, years of knowing _his_ own body, and he can't believe he missed these – the dimple of his cheeks when Chanyeol gives him the laziest of smiles, the perpetual look of wonder in his eyes when Chanyeol looks up at him and says, "You're funny." Often, there's no good reason, but Chanyeol goes for the save and mentions some weird quirk that Yixing doesn't know about himself – _You never eat your cereal with milk, but you sprinkle it with water. You like your hot chocolate cold. Like, what the fuck?_

"And you do that thing with your lips when you're not sure what to say. Like you're trying to communicate using... some secret language." Chanyeol does that 'thing', makes one corner of his mouth tug up and the other tug down in some twisted smirk-frown-grin. It's strangely alluring, makes Yixing's insides turn. It's actually... cute. "And you expect me to get it all the time?"

"You've never let me down, though," Yixing retorts.

Chanyeol's nose twitches. There's still the weird smile-frown thing on his lips, though. Yixing's insides are turning and it isn't from Chanyeol's fingers dancing on the back of his hand. "Only because I try not to."

"Oh yeah?"

Chanyeol leans closer. Their noses bump. "Hell, yeah."

Chanyeol's gaze flickers, and then he's tracing the bridge of Yixing's nose, the jut of Yixing's top lip. He presses closer, then, and for a second Yixing thinks, _shit. I haven't brushed my teeth yet. What if I taste like shit? What if–_ Sometimes, stuff like these matters, but all his thoughts dissolve as Chanyeol licks his way into Yixing's mouth, pries Yixing's lips apart with a gentle coax of his tongue and a warm fingers flat on Yixing's tummy.

"No fair," Yixing says between kisses. "You know you're ticklish here."

"I play dirty off-court," Chanyeol whispers. He pulls away then leans back in, but misses by a few centimeters. His silly, sleepy laugh fills Yixing's ears. They fall asleep on the desk, facing each other, and Yixing takes a few good seconds to appreciate the soft lines of his face before rousing Chanyeol from his sleep and letting color – life – creep back to his otherwise pale cheeks.

 

 

"It's finally been settled. The game's tomorrow," the coach announces. He takes a deep breath, keeps his eyes focused on the empty space at the back like he's trying really hard to not play favorites. Yixing catches the way the coach sneaks a glance at Chanyeol, though. "But there's been a change in the details. They're taking in just one athlete instead of two. So you'll have to work harder."

"Like we aren't already," is Henry's helpful reaction, and Yixing holds out a high five in agreement. They haven't been training as hard as they normally do when they're getting ready for tournaments or the interhigh, but it's still training, hard work. The starting five still stay behind longer than they should for a few extra hoops. Henry practices his trick passes and Chanyeol, having grown accustomed to the way he fits in Yixing's body, pokes fun at him, challenges him head-on. What happens is a showdown, then, between the two people who switch playing positions from time to time, depending on the need during the game. Henry isn't any taller than Yixing, but his sense of defense is better. Yixing's ability to keep track of everyone on court is impeccable. It's only natural for them to go up against each other in a playful game.

"I'm not taking sides," Yixing says, raising his long arms in defense like how Chanyeol normally would. Chanyeol shrugs because it's something Yixing would do, but he doesn't shield the crazy grin from anyone's view. Yixing should call him out on that because Zhang Yixing doesn't grin like a madman. Zhang Yixing goes for subtle smiles like he's sending a wish of defeat to every opponent they've ever faced, then cackles in the locker rooms after the game.

"Just one slot, though," Chanyeol says now as he dribbles the ball. Only the three of them are left in the court now, after Yuan and Yajun excused themselves to take a run along the track to ease their nerves. "You think they'll ever reconsider and open up another?"

" _And another,_ " Henry amends. "Please remember that I saved your sorry asses a couple of times and filled your roles when you were too worn out to even dribble."

Yixing turns to Henry with a grin. Chanyeol snorts, then cackles, unable to hold it in. "Thank you, Henry. You're heaven-sent."

The strange thing about it, though, is that Yixing doesn't mind. He hates losing, being crippled by defeat, but the reality is that this _isn't_ his dream; it's Chanyeol's. It wasn't him who wanted to lead the team all the way to the interhigh championships on their first year without Zhou Mi's guidance. It wasn't him who wanted to hold the trophy with his hands and raise it in the air as Chanyeol, drunk on victory and high on happiness, lifted him in the air. It was all Chanyeol. It just so happened that he was half of who Chanyeol was so he was dragged into this mess. And he let himself be dragged into it until there was nothing in his ears but the thrum of the ball bouncing on the court, the screech of basketball shoes. Chanyeol's voice, low and steady, as he says, _Give me the ball. I can make the basket._

His dream is to watch the school sail to the championships, not to be the one piloting the ship. But he's already here, anyway, so why the hell not?

"What I think," Yixing says, then clears his throat. "Is that we should just do our best tomorrow. Give it all we've got. If Henry gets the scholarship then… there's got to be a big problem with the system." Chanyeol cackles, then, and Henry groans. Yixing takes a step back, eluding the jab Henry throws at him. "Some people are just lucky, right? You can't defeat Lady Luck just like that."

Henry reaches out for another jab. He nails it this time, smack in the middle of Yixing's arm. Yixing laughs at the way Henry tiptoes. "You two are ganging up against me. This is bullying! Don't we have a rule against this or something? Can't they, I don't know, suspend you two for making fun of me?"

"If you're an important person in the world, I guess," Yixing answers.

Chanyeol clamps a hand on Henry and lets out a loud, exaggerated exhale. "Which you aren't." A heartbeat and stifled laughter, then, "Sorry."

"You're gonna regret everything you've done–" Henry hooks his arms around the two, pulls them close and pulls their sticky, sweaty bodies together. "–and you're gonna bow down to me and worship my amazing basketball skills–"

Chanyeol is the first to laugh, light at first and then gaining cadence. Yixing soon follows because Chanyeol said before, the first time Yixing giggled uncontrollably, "Your laughter's contagious." And it is, Yixing soon realizes when he feels a funny sensation in his chest, like he's being tickled until he surrenders to the allure of laughter. So he does and he leans back into Henry's arms, leans his head on Henry's own. For a moment, he forgets he's in Chanyeol's body and that he has long limbs, but Chanyeol reaches from behind Henry and grips his arm tight. He meets Chanyeol halfway then pulls Chanyeol closer with his other arm.

They're forehead to forehead now, all three of them. It's hot and humid at the center and Yixing's finding it harder to breathe, but the pull of Chanyeol's smile is too strong. He lingers a little longer, presses their cheeks together, and doesn't meet Henry's gaze.

He tilts his face at the very last second and pulls away just as soon as his lips meet the heat of Chanyeol's cheeks. Chanyeol looks at him with wide eyes and a crazy-awkward grin. He responds with a slap on the ass and light squeeze.

 

 

Yixing's idea of a pep talk is one given by the coach, or maybe even Chanyeol. The coach would tell them to do their best, that, no matter what happens, the school will be proud of them for giving the opposing team a good fight. It's standard, almost templated, but warm words always reach Yixing and wrap around his shoulder like a quilt. It isn't a form of assurance, but it does lend him some semblance of comfort in the face of a tough basketball game.

Henry, however, has a different concept of pep talks altogether. So when Henry says, "You do know what you're getting into, right?" Yixing does flinch or budge.

"Hey, I said–" Henry sits beside him on the bench as he ties his shoelaces. Yixing risks a glance, then, to acknowledge Henry's presence. "You _do_ what you're doing, right? The repercussions and all?"

There's a fine line between knowing the consequences of an action and feeling bad about them. Yixing's there, toeing the line, but he always inevitably falls to the left side and just acknowledges the possible repercussions of this whole arrangement with Chanyeol. They've been careful enough, though – there are no cameras in the locker rooms and if they ever get more intimate than they should elsewhere, they do it in the confines of their rooms. Phone sex has proven to be their best friend, given the restrictions. All other incidentals, the touches and lingering looks and soft smiles, they can choke up to 'building chemistry',

So Yixing admits, "Yeah," ties the left shoelace in another knot. He can't take chances and let his guard down, have the knot loosen in the middle of a game or while he's walking. "What about it?"

Henry huffs. "That nuzzling thing earlier."

"There was no 'nuzzling thing'." Yixing's voice breaks a little towards the end. He recognizes that, the crack in the tone, the way Chanyeol's deep voice goes pitchy. It means he's defensive and he's guilty. It means he's trying to deny all charges pressed to him and trying to find a way out. Problem is, there's no one to pass the ball to here. It's all him now and a hundred of Henry towering over him, keeping him from shooting. He should've known better than to take the ball, and yet– "We're just really good friends."

Henry cocks an eyebrow, unfazed. "And the showers didn't smell like sex the other day. _Right._ "

Yixing shrugs, but tugs on the loops of his shoelaces. The fit is snug. This won't come off anytime soon. "Must be the shampoo." He leans closer, sniffs Henry's hair and grimaces. "Yeah, definitely the shampoo."

Henry doesn't say anything, doesn't even inch away or point an accusing finger at him. He's just there, staring, waiting, like he's trying to coax Yixing into feeling bad about the whole arrangement. It's not as if Yixing asked to be put in Chanyeol's body and vice versa, or that he asked for the swap to last this long. He was just supposed to get Chanyeol off because of Chanyeol's eternal Huilang boner, just once, and Yixing was okay with that. But then Chanyeol had to want him just as much, had to offer his services in case Yixing had any problems to deal with. It's like adding salt to the wound and blowing hot breath on it. It's like falling on your ass and having the entire team laugh at you for being stupid.

"What if he gets accepted and he–" Henry worries his bottom lip. "Look, I'm just looking out for you–"

"I know," Yixing interrupts. He leaves the other shoe untied and sits back up. His shoulder bumps against Henry's. "Thanks for your concern. But right now, I need my real body and my dick and not this."

Henry attempts to laugh, but all that comes out is a choked whimper and a loud exhale. "Help yourself," Henry says as closing statement, then rubs circles on Yixing's back. Never mind that Henry's still topless and Yixing's too vulnerable; this is the kind of touch that says, 'bro, no matter what, I've got your back. Pass the ball and I'll take the three. I won't get you down.' So Yixing leans his head on Henry's shoulder, shifts when he miscalculates his height again. He grumbles at his lack of foresight and laughs at the scowl Henry does. Henry chuckles this time and hums.

 

 

The scouts for Shanghai High arrive just ten minutes before ten in the morning. The coach reminded everyone to take a heavy meal before coming in in preparation for the game, but Chanyeol barely touched his takeout from McDonald's. Even after Yixing and Henry ate the muffins, Chanyeol still hadn't eaten much. It wasn't until they threatened to eat the potato hash that Chanyeol perked up and made a move to eat his food, morsel per morsel.

"I'm so fucking nervous," Chanyeol mumbles under his breath now as they stand at the center of the court, facing Henry, Yuan, and Yajun on the other side. Henry looks like he's about to pass out; the other two look like they're dying to run away and forget that this game is even real.

"Same," Yixing whispers right back. He clenches and unclenches his fists, and lets his nails dig into his skin. It's a lame attempt to restore warmth in his hands, but it's a good try. He feels more awake now, alive. That also means he's absorbed the reality of the situation there's no denying that this game is actually happening.

Ten minutes to prep and warm up. Ten minutes to practice their passes and to remind themselves that they should play like their supposed normal selves.

Close to three weeks now and they still haven't switched back. Yixing's convinced that they magic to restore the balance, but Chanyeol had only laughed at him then when he brought up the suggestion. So he tries to grow accustomed to this, really get used to it like he'll be stuck in Chanyeol's body forever. Maybe in a few weeks he'll come to love Chanyeol's parents as much as he loves his, but there's no denying that the misses being Zhang Yixing.

"So be a bit of both," he remembers Chanyeol telling him one time, after practice. They were pressed against each other in the showers and Chanyeol had three fingers inside Yixing. "Think of it as a playing style that you have to adjust to. Like when you're not playing as a point guard and–"

"And you really have to stop doing that," Chanyeol says now, pinching him in his side. Last minute to warm up, Yixing registers when he looks up at the timer. He shoots Chanyeol a weak smile. "We can do this. Before we even know it, it's already over."

"And we've already won," Yixing amends. Chanyeol smiles like a habit, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And Shanghai High's taking in both of us and maybe Henry, too."

The buzzer sounds off, signifying the start of the game. The referee holds the ball up at the center of the court, and they all move closer to the circle. The first quarter usually dictates the mood of the entire game, and Yixing knows they can't slack off even during the first ten minutes of the game. Henry's good at maintaining momentum, making the weirdest shots possible with a flick of the wrist. Add Yuan and Yajun's ball handling to the equation and you've got an easy win for the other team.

Yixing's team gets the jump ball and the center passes the ball to Chanyeol. Chanyeol is quick on his feet, running to their side of the court as he dribbles. Someone from the other team manages to catch up, guarding Chanyeol, and Chanyeol passes the ball to Yixing without even looking. _Muscle memory,_ Yixing registers, like Chanyeol's wearing him as a second skin. He dribbles between his legs and steps outside the three-point arc before lifting himself off the ground to shoot.

The ball slips right in the ring and the net sways from side to side. Their first basket is a three-pointer; Henry's bound to counter-attack soon. He's not a small forward for nothing.

The first two minutes pass without a basket from the other team. Chanyeol takes advantage of this, playing with the ball and doing simple passes in order to score. Yuan manages to convert a turnover to a basket after a bad pass form one of Yixing's teammates, but Yixing doesn't think about it too much, simply runs to the other side of the court as fast as he can. The real game starts then, with Yajun doing sneaky steals with a light tap of the ball and snaking past the defense of the other team to score one lay up after another. Yixing's team keeps the defense up, nonetheless, tries their best to keep the ball from getting to the opposing team's shooters and stalling out possession.

The referee blows the whistle after twenty-four seconds elapse. Henry groans and raises his hand to accept the violation, then hands the ball over to the referee.

Chanyeol takes possession of the ball, then, and passes it to Yixing. They meet at half court and the rest of the team is inside the three-point arc, all waiting for the pass, the attack, someone to make a basket. Henry is smiling, eyes ablaze, and Yajun and Yuan are cracking their necks like they're saying, _this is it? This is the game? This is what you have to offer?_ It isn't – the game has just begun even with just a few seconds left 'til half-time, even with just three points between the teams, a two-point play that can be stretched to a wider gap if someone pulls off a great basket. Yixing looks to his side, at the steady rhythm Chanyeol develops as he dribbles the ball. He can see Chanyeol looking from a corner of his eye, can see the light upward tug on the curl of Chanyeol's lips as Chanyeol walks forward, dribbling the ball between his legs.

"Fifteen," Yixing calls out. Two of their teammates are in the paint, and the other is at a corner, guarding Henry with his back pressed to Henry's chest. "Wanna stall this out?"

The dribbling picks ups pace. Chanyeol laughs a little before crossing over and running past Yixing. Yixing nods in acknowledgement and joins the team near the basket.

They're on opposite sides of the court, but he trusts Chanyeol enough to get the ball to him in time. They've done this too many times already, pulled it off for more times than their fingers can count that Yixing is sure Henry will see the play from a mile away. He doesn't, though, only struggles to get past the defense, but too late. Chanyeol moves forward, then backward, jumps off the floor for a fadeaway shot before passing the ball to his right.

Yixing catches it with both hands and jumps, then, doesn't even dribble to regain his rhythm and goes straight for the shot.

He's at the center of the three-point arc, close enough to the basket for a clear shot, but still he trembles a little. He knows better than to be completely sure of his three-point shots even if Chanyeol has a stronger pulse, has a better three-point record that he does. He takes a deep breath, then, hands poised to release the ball. Seven seconds in the shot clock, and then he pushes his right hand forward, assisted by his left as he tries to get the ball in. There's enough force in the shot to make sure the ball hits the frame, at the very least. He's not tired enough to not be able to calculate his strength. At worst, he can last thirty more minutes; at best, he can play this whole thing out until they claim victory over Henry's team.

Part of his body tells him to do better, aim higher, but every sport is one part hard work and one part luck. Everybody knows that, even the coach. It's only Chanyeol who's convinced himself to not leave anything to luck, to _be the game._

The ball hits the frame, traces the ring before falling into the net. The buzzer sounds off, and then the applause of the scouts cuts through the sharp, blaring sound marking the end of the second quarter. 42-36 during half-time means they've tried to attack and and have kept their defenses up. It also means they have 58 more points to rack up until they make a clean 100 to meet the coach's goal but, right now, it doesn't matter. They're halfway through the biggest basketball hurdle they've been faced with and they sure are taking a nice lead over the opposing team.

The furrow of Chanyeol's eyebrows eases as they shuffle to the side of the court, resting at the benches. "Stop second guessing yourself," Chanyeol whispers in his ear when they're already beside each other, shoulder to shoulder. "Gives us less breathing time to execute a shot."

"Well _sorry_ , Ace," Yixing teases. Chanyeol sticks his tongue out in response. He locks his arms in front of him, then, and suddenly it catches up to him – how natural it is for them to move in and with each others bodies, the slide of their bodies against each other. The warm press of Chanyeol's thigh against his and the grin on Chanyeol's lips that says _thanks for the great shot back there; you're making me look great_ or _thanks for lending me your body; I'm learning to make better passes._ Yixing's still trying to figure it out, but the dimples on Chanyeol's cheeks – his cheeks – catch his attention again. His heart almost leaps out of his chest and he tempers it, tries to calm it down with a big gulp.

Chanyeol rests a hand on Yixing's knee. "Can you try making your shots arc up more? Less force but more…"

"More angle?"

Chanyeol nods, squeezes his thigh. The scouts are in front of them and he thinks, _shit, this is gonna get us in trouble._ He looks at Chanyeol in the eye and thinks, _but aren't we already?_ "Got it. I'll do better."

Chanyeol gets up, then, bends his knees and stretches before getting back on court. There's a stutter in his steps, like he's waiting for Yixing to catch up, so Yixing does. He stands and bounces on the balls of his feet for a while before taking a few strides forward. "Thanks for the long legs," he whispers in Chanyeol's ear when they pass each other. _Thanks for the great pass you'll be giving me later,_ he says when he holds up a thumbs-up.

Across him, Chanyeol gives him a toothy grin. The buzzer sounds off, signaling the start of the second half. The loud thumping in Yixing's chest soars about the shrill sound.

 

 

One thing that Yixing couldn't have seen coming was foul counts racking up on them.

He's never had to deal with it before, whenever he plays with the usual starting five. Chanyeol isn't the biggest shot offender, but occasionally he makes these really bad attacks on other players in an attempt to change possessions. Henry's the most careful of the five, and Yuan has come close to a fourth count before but never really trawled that territory. The team he has now is great, but panic gets the better of them, makes them push harder and forget basic rules that result in garnering their team more penalties than it should.

Chanyeol hangs his head low as he raises his hand for the second time within the last minute of the game, answering the call for a twenty-four-second violation. Henry takes possession of the ball, passes it to Yajun, then takes it back once they meet at half court.

A little under a minute on the shot clock now and Henry's team has already managed to narrow the lead from ten in the third quarter to two. It's the closest they've come to a tie in the past thirty minutes, and by now Yixing can feel his knees – Chanyeol's knees that have never been the toughest – shaking. Chanyeol's best playing time was thirty-five minutes; he's nearing forty-five now, total, with the pauses on the clocks for fouls.

Chanyeol inches closer to him and they switch people to defend. Yixing towers over Henry, eyes focused and body hyperaware. Chanyeol says, "We've got this in the bag!" like Henry isn't close to bringing their score up by another basket. "Come on, guys! We can't give up now!"

He meets Chanyeol in the eye and his breath hitches, like it's finally caught up to him – that he's supposed to be acting like a real captain because he's the one in control of Chanyeol's body right now, that this scholarship, this victory, this is Chanyeol's dream. So in his steadiest voice, he musters, "Come on, team! We can't let them catch up! We have to win this!"

"That's a really bad imitation, but props to you," Henry mutters under his breath. He dribbles the ball between his feet, moves forward, and then back again when Yixing matches his movements. "You're getting a hang of this."

Yixing laughs a little. "It's been three weeks," he tells Henry. To the team, he says, "Who's ready to have some fun?"

He doesn't have to look to his side to catch Chanyeol grinning. He bends his knees a little more, swallows the wince with a smile just as bright when he feels the stretch. Henry cocks an eyebrow at him and sways from side to side. _Any moment now–_

And then Henry's moving to his left, slipping from Yixing's defense and moving closer to the paint. Yixing turns around, taps the ball just as Henry motions to shoot. He doesn't catch the ball after the first dribble, but Chanyeol is there to take the pass, speeding past him and to their side of the court. Twenty-four seconds on the shot clock again, he thinks, and if Chanyeol read his mind earlier, knew what he meant by _having fun,_ then he'll play the ball before doing an in and out and going for a three.

"Get inside!" he tells two of their teammates. The other one, he instructs to stay outside the paint, just near the three-point arc. Yajun's defense is tight, arms quickly responding to the slightest of Chanyeol's movements. Yixing catches up, passes behind Chanyeol in an effort to get the ball. Chanyeol shoots him a quick glance, though, one that says _can I give this a shot?_ and Yixing only smiles a little in response. He slides past Chanyeol, running to the farthest part of the arc and effectively leads Yajun to thinking that the ball's already with him.

"Whoa, wait–" Yajun stops midway through and twists his torso to go back, but too late – Chanyeol takes a step back, an inch away from the three-point arc. "Chanyeol, you–"

Yixing takes a deep breath. Ten seconds in the shot clock. One split-second of hesitation to ruin the entire game that dissolves into an ounce of faith and hope when Chanyeol jumps, lifts himself off the ground, and releases the ball with a flick of the wrist.

The ball takes a nice, curving path to the ring, but hits the board just before it goes in. The ball teeters forward, then rolls along the ring. Yixing holds his breath and presses his back against Yajun, keeping the defense tight. It's the longest three, four seconds of Yixing's life, and when the ball goes through the ring in a nice, fluid motion, he lets out a loud exhale and exclaims, "Oh yeah!"

Chanyeol gets back to the floor with a soft thud and yells, "Defense, everyone! Henry's gonna attempt to make a basket!"

Henry stutters in his steps but keeps running. Yixing catches up with the two, holds out a hand in Chanyeol's direction for a high five before they take their defense formation on the other side of the court. They're on opposite ends but they might as well be standing on the same space, operating in the same body, playing ball with the same right hand and the same pair of feet and the same brand of determination. Henry charges forward, aiming straight for the basket. Yixing inches closer to the basket and stops him sort, steals the ball and looks around for someone to score them another chance at victory.

Chanyeol's halfway through the half court, grinning. Yixing draws the ball above his head and throws it in Chanyeol's direction. Chanyeol catches it with both hands and runs to the basket, unguarded. A few more strides and Yixing feels it, the push and pull in his body like his soul is being ripped from his skin, and then he's jumping off the floor, inching closer to the net, bringing the ball to the basket in an easy lay up.

When he looks over his shoulder, he meets Chanyeol in the eye. They don't stop in their tracks to say, "We're back, we're finally back!"

They keep running.

 

 

Yixing's team clinches the win at 98-90. The last shot was a three-pointer from him. It was easier, in a sense – he was more accustomed to his limbs, after all, the distance between his tiny body and the basket, the distance between his hand and the ring and where Chanyeol was if he ever missed the shot. But he didn't. It went in without a hitch, ringless, and the buzzer sounded off. They're two points short of getting a hundred, but stats bear no meaning anymore when the scouts rise on their feet and applaud their play. This is, to date, the best game Yixing has ever had the chance of playing. It's also the most nerve-wrecking, and possibly the one that has put the most strain on his legs. His limbs feel like jelly and he can't stop shaking. Not even Henry draping an arm around him can steady the trembling of his body.

"Hey," comes Chanyeol's voice, the same old low tone that he's come to get used to sending shivers crawling up his nape. Chanyeol places warm hands on his shoulders, then says, "Great game."

He looks up, takes a deep breath as he meets Chanyeol's gaze. He searches for the dimples that used to accompany Chanyeol's toothy grin, but even that is long gone. They're back in their bodies now. They're Yixing and Chanyeol again, not Yixing-and-Chanyeol, half of each other and half of who they've grown up to be. Chanyeol keeps a good distance between them – twelve inches between their faces, eight inches between their chests. One breath and a decision between their warm bodies. Chanyeol's eyes haven't left his own, and if they weren't so mindful of the people around them, if there was so much a thin veil of steam to shield them from the rest of the world, then Chanyeol would've let himself have the leisure of staring at Yixing's lips.

Chanyeol doesn't. Instead, he lets his hands drop to his side after a while, but not without brushing his fingers against Yixing's own. Over Chanyeol's shoulder, the scouts are talking to their coach. It's like a scene from Japanese animation, or maybe a movie, except this one doesn't have a manga to salvage the impending abrupt ending of the animation.

"Thanks," Yixing mutters. He gulps down hard, loosening the tightness in his throat. "Saw you talking to them a while ago. They liked your game?"

Henry takes this as his cue to inch away, excuses himself to grab a drink and drags Yajun and Yuan along with him. Chanyeol doesn't move, doesn't budge, but his breathing does hitch and his bottom lip trembles. With this distance between them, Chanyeol seems much smaller, feels like a kid whose favorite toy has been snatched away from him. The sad smile on Chanyeol's lips says, _We could've closed the game in 100 points_ ; the furrow of his eyebrows, _Maybe we should've let Henry take the scholarship. Maybe we should've run away. Maybe–_

"I got the scholarship," Chanyeol says. Yixing grins, but he holds off on the crinkles in his eyes. Chanyeol isn't finished yet. He waits for the punch line, the magic trick. "Full scholarship with stipend and training overseas, even. There's just one thing."

Yixing laughs a little. "We have to switch bodies again?"

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but fixes his gaze on Yixing not too long after. "No hanky panky, they said." He worries his bottom lip, then, and Yixing catches the line of blood where Chanyeol has bitten too hard. "Because there's no room for a boy who likes a boy in the world of basketball."

Yixing takes a sharp intake of breath. Over his shoulder, he can hear Yuan's calls of, _pizza's on coach! Come on, you two!_ Chanyeol mumbles an apology so soft he might as well be whispering, but Yixing still catches it because he knows Chanyeol, has every inch and every little thing about Chanyeol memorized from the hitch of the breath to the light shake of his shoulders. Chanyeol's face is unreadable, but maybe that's because he's wearing a vacant expression. His hands are back on Yixing's shoulder, though, and Chanyeol is trembling, and he can feel Chanyeol's pulse beat loudly on his skin.

"Go get 'em, Ace," Yixing says, then, in congratulations. He swallows hard on his spit. He can taste the blood in his mouth. "Make us proud."

"I will," Chanyeol promises, because it's the only thing he can do right now. Their knuckles brush as they walk to where the rest of the team is. Yixing tries not to shiver. "I'll make you proud."

 

 

(Yixing sneaks to the gym against his better judgment. It's not as if he hasn't been getting enough practice, or that anyone in the team needs to go through rigorous training anymore. With the exhibition match crossed off their list and the interhigh championship trophy safe in the club room, there's nothing to focus on but academics. So he goes there with his readings, but he comes in his basketball attire. He shoots a few hoops until his mind calms down and the voices at the back of his head stop harping at him.

"Can't study properly?"

Yixing misses the bounce, but picks up the ball again after two counts. "More like, can't breathe," Yixing answers. He doesn't turn around but his mind's off academics and the game now. Chanyeol walks in the gym and steals all of his attention the same way he commands respect and admiration when he steps on court for a game.

"Hey," Chanyeol begins, nudging him in his side. "You're not scared of leaving the school, aren't you?"

"Baba got reassigned to Korea," Yixing confesses. There's a sharp intake of breath from Chanyeol, and then he's lunging, stealing the ball from Yixing. He dribbles away, in the direction of the basket, and then he's lifting himself off the ground, one leg stretched out and the other bent as he puts the ball in with a flick of the wrist. Chanyeol's the last person to run away from a confrontation, but maybe he isn't running away. Maybe this is his way of telling Yixing that _I've moved on. Maybe you should, too._

"When–" Chanyeol runs two fingers along the band of his shorts. "When are you leaving for Korea?"

Yixing shrugs. "After graduation, probably? Not sure when, exactly, but yeah." He scrunches his nose. "This year. Soon."

Chanyeol looks around for a while before moving closer, wrapping his fingers around Yixing's wrist. This can be an invitation, or it can really just be Chanyeol looking for something to hold onto, _someone_ to hold onto. A sense of home, maybe, in a country that could be home but isn't the place that raised him. Chanyeol pins him with his gaze and Yixing takes a deep breath. He feels every fiber of him resisting, leaning back, his the voices in his head tell him to lean in, come closer, _if you want to get an answer then come closer–_ "So you won't get to watch me play for Shanghai High anymore? Really?"

Yixing snorts, stopping short. He kicks Chanyeol in the calf. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Chanyeol tightens his grip on Yixing's wrist, then loosens it, dropping his hand to this side. The sting from where Chanyeol had held him still burns, but Chanyeol's smiling now, the corners of his mouth soft and not strained. "That's all," Chanyeol says, and then they're pulling away, and then Chanyeol's picking up the ball and offering it to Yixing like some kind of peace offering. "One last game?"

Yixing rests his palm flat on the surface and gives the ball a light squeeze. The tension feels good on his skin. "Let's.")

 

 

The coach calls off practices to give the seniors more time to study for the final exams. Perfect timing, Yixing thinks as he holes himself up in his room, door locked and cellphone hidden under his pillow. There's no excuse to not focus on academics, and there's a perfect excuse to not go to every place that Chanyeol frequents. This isn't fear or cowardice. This is Yixing recalibrating, shifting his focus. This is Yixing passing the ball to someone else not because he can't make the shot, but because there's someone who can get the ball in from a better angle.

This is Yixing trying out the best, the most careful approach to win this game. Reward is in taking risks, but he's taken too many already. Anything in excess is bad.

With exams just around the corner, he sees less of the team and more of his books and papers, homeworks upon homeworks that will supposedly help him secure a bright future. Something better. He drops the basketball and picks up his racket when his brain starts to give up on him. The steady bounce of the tennis ball eases the tension in his shoulders, provides an easy rhythm that his heart beats to. He doesn't need any of those fast and thumping beats. What he needs is to find himself, find the right time to strike to win a point. And he'll find that eventually here, in his backyard, with his tennis racket in his hand. Or maybe in Korea when they move there in a few months.

He bounces the ball on the ground a few times, then tosses the ball in the air. There's no more hint of the dull ache in his back, the one that plagued him two years ago and forced him to stop playing ball.

He smiles to himself and swings his arm forward. The sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot of the racket is music to his ears.

 

 

The thing about preparing for final exams is that it feels longer than the actual examination period, itself. Months of preparation culminates in three days of poring over exam sheets, nine hours spent answering and checking and _double-checking_ each answer to make sure that he hasn't missed a detail. His marks in math had suffered before because he forgot to put the unit of measurement for some items; he's not making the same mistake anymore.

Being thorough pays off and sees him marching along the red carpet leading to the stage. The toga kind of chokes him; the material is heavy and thick and even with the gentle winds of spring, it still feels like heat and torture in one gown-like attire. He isn't alone, though – a few seats away, he sees Henry adjusting the collar of his toga. At the row in front of him, he catches Chanyeol rolling up the sleeves, then rolling them back down when one of their instructors reprimands him.

Yixing laughs to himself, but some of his laughter rises above the collective noise. Chanyeol looks over his shoulder, then, and Yixing doesn't look away.

This is like one of those games where the teams are tied with one minute left on the shot clock. Chanyeol is unblinking, unrelenting, and Yixing doesn't plan to break the eye contact soon. They know that neither of them will get the basket if they don't move, so Yixing takes a leap of faith, swallows on his own spit and offers a smile. Chanyeol cocks an eyebrow, then, completely on impulse, and he scrunches his nose. _That one's involuntary,_ he remembers Chanyeol saying, so he allows himself a moment of surrender, squints and lets his lips do that half-smile, half-frown thing where he _can't quite find the right words to enunciate just yet._ Chanyeol seems to get it, though, the underlying message. The struggle bubbling on Yixing's lips that soon dissolves into light laughter and _your class is up next. Focus._

Chanyeol sticks out his tongue and mouths right back, _You still have my back?_

"Always," Yixing whispers this time. He worries his bottom lip, then mouths, _But I can't clean up your shit anymore._

Chanyeol's shoulders shake. It's a good shake, like his laughter's too much to handle, overwhelming, all-consuming. Chanyeol swallows it down but there's still a sliver of a giggle at the corners of his lips, so he turns around and stands when his class is called, falls in line with the rest of the students. The stretch of his body says, _you don't have to watch my back anymore_ ; the thumbs up he's holding behind his back, _but thanks, you're really doing a great job._

Yixing takes a deep breath and claps with the rest of the batch, gives Chanyeol one last look before fixing his eyes on the stage. His eyes flit to where Chanyeol is when he almost trips on his toga, though, like a bad habit. If he ever gets the urge to cackle, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter in, contains his amusement in the upward tug of the lip and the steady rhythm of his applause, each repetition gaining more force than the previous.

Chanyeol risks a glance at him before walking to the stage. He doesn't meet Chanyeol's gaze, keeps his eyes fixed on the legs of the administrators dangling off their chairs, on the floor, on the school logo on the flag. He keeps clapping.


End file.
